The Wizard of the Music
by Lady Debar
Summary: The phantom has been missing for fifteen years. At his almost fifty, he only wants to be left alone and has made a deal to achieve this. What happens when the man he bargained with is dead? Lots of OCs. Chap1 BETAed! In permanent HIATUS due to lack of english level.
1. Introduction: Hellen

**Introduction: Hellen**

I have discovered some things, belatedly. One of them was that not only my husband had been a twit and an embezzler, he also gave asylum to a murderer. In our basement, for God's sake. An ungodly place to live, if you ask me, with so much humidity you could almost swim in the air. And he lost through gambling all the money he had earned with this unorthodox business, as always. He managed to make me and his son go bankrupt just before he got himself killed in a duel.

It's almost sad, the way some people fall straight to disaster. I would be a lot more pitying about his fate had our son not been so sick that he could barely walk by the time Etien died. Gosh, I know I sound bitter. And that's me all over, a thirty-something widow that worried about her son, her livelihood and her critical lack of money. It used to send me into despair every time yet another debt showed up and every little penny I had managed to save was lost.

My name is Hellen, by the way.

I am not into romance anymore, not now, not ever. I have endured a marriage and I don't think I have the strength to face another relationship with...anyone. Provided that anyone would think of me that way, of course; something very unlikely given that I am of a certain age, and it shows. I have been caring very much for my son William, so the stress and long nights without sleep are clearly marked on my face. I'm not as pretty and rounded as I used to be. With time, all of my freshness, my only beauty, has gone.

I don't recall being in love with Etienne. He was gorgeous—handsome and bright as a spark. Maybe he stole my heart away at a glance. Maybe I was young, and flattered, and thought that a man of noble upbringing and stance would bring me my "happily ever after." He did not. He may have loved me, and it looks like he was faithful to me. He never raised a hand to me. So, why is it that, when I think of my marriage, I only remember feeling empty, and used, and tired? He wasted both our fortunes. He liked to play around. He was so full of himself. He was magnetic. I know some people asked themselves why so handsome a man was with so worn-out a woman. I could not bring myself to care about it. All I did all of the time was worry about our son.

That was my situation, until I found a killer downstairs. He likes to play the mystery and is as bitter as I am. He scares me to death, truth be told. He plays with my feelings, but... Sometimes I think he feels just as lonely as I, and his torturing me is a twisted way of showing affection. It startles me more than comforts me.

Please understand, for me it's very unsettling to have Erik in my house. Not only is he a man—think of all the gossip that would start, a widow letting a man live in her basement—but a criminal one. And sometimes when we talk, he goes and says something that makes me sympathetic of his ways. All I can do then is lower my head and pretend there wasn't a sparkle of understanding between us. I'm afraid of anyone touching my little bubble of misery.

All my foolishness and impulsiveness is lost. So is my son William: kidnapped. By a supernatural being, it seems.

I am so scared that I have even asked Erik for help.

----

AN: Thanks to Erin G.A. for beta reading this chapter. You're the best!

* * *


	2. Chapter 1: Revelation

Hellen stirred in her chair. She had cramps everywhere. It was late, maybe midnight. She was so spent. In the bed beside her, William seemed to sleep at last, his face too skinny for a boy his age. _He's only eleven, for God's sake_, thought his mother with a familiar pang at her chest. She rubbed her temples. The storm that was roaring outside the window did nothing for her headache.

The door opened to a concerned butler, the only servant who stayed in the house after Etien died.

"Madame," he said, "You should go rest now."

"I will, thank you, Gerald," she answered. She was tired indeed. "Just a minute more, I have to finish reviewing my accounts...Is everything settled for the auction tomorrow?" she asked softly. She always talked sweetly and levelly, as if afraid of waking her son to the pains of his sickness.

The old man looked at her and gave her an encouraging smile. "Yes, Madame. Maybe you would like to look at the papers in the desk, though".

"So I should..." Hellen said almost dreamily. She knew she had to pour out every single document her husband had left behind. Maybe she would find yet another debt. She sighed. It was a prospect to chill one's heart. It had to be done, nonetheless.

"Maybe not tonight, but in the morning," said the old servant kindly. She shook her head.

"Better have it done now than to leave it to worry about tomorrow." She stood and smiled at the butler. "Go now, old friend. I'll be in Morpheus' arms in no time".

He reluctantly did so, leaving her to her misery and silence again. She lowered her smiling facade and went back to the desk, sitting in front of it and wishing she hadn't had to sell all of her old furniture. Some of it was from her great-grandfather.

She had to wipe her eyes then. It was so...undignified. She remembered too clearly how it had been, to be rich and courted by everyone she ever came across. That time was over, now. She was so poor she didn't even have enough money to pay for a decent doctor for her son.

Sometimes she wished that Etien had died before, just for the sake of William. It made her feel unwell, unsettled and horrified at her own ideas. _Damn you, Etien, for making me so ugly._ That was the only thing that she would never forgive him for, getting killed in such an absurd way, and without a pence in his pocket. She was a widow now, thirty-something and so tired of struggling with her fate...

Hellen opened the desk and began looking through letters and papers. She must have been lucky tonight, because none of them was from any creditor. Most of them were from former friends, long gone with the money and luxury they used to have.

Some music annotations captured her eye. She remembered Etien had some frustrated artistic tendencies, but she didn't remember him ever going for composition. She looked at it more closely. Tired, the woman sighed and put it away. It wouldn't do her any good to start remembering the days when she had her singing and playing lessons.

And then, from between the scores, a single letter fell to the floor.

She caught it and looked at it, astonished. It had a very gaudy seal, in brilliant red wax forming a skull too big for anyone to have as a ring. She didn't know why, but suddenly she felt a shiver down her spine. She tightened the shawl around her shoulders.

The paper was so thick that it stood rigid even with so bold a seal on it. The calligraphy inside was difficult and capricious, with strange edges on it. She read eagerly, just a little bit anxious. It was, as she had suspected, addressed to her deceased husband.

_Mr. Carmichel,_

_Here is the money I promised you, as long as no one knows our arrangement about your basement. It was the wisest thing to do. I hope our association goes as smooth as this contract has._

_Regards,_

_The Phantom._

Hellen raised a hand to her lips, surprised and shaken. Where could the referred-to money be...? Maybe it was still around and she could put it to good use. Or maybe...Not. The date was from some years ago. She recalled one day a happy Etien had come into the house saying there was nothing to worry about anymore... He had told her he had inherited a little fortune from some long-lost relative. And she had believed him.

So he lied to her. Well, well, the things we learn skipping through our loved one's correspondence...

_I was not the only one turned into something I would rather not be, was I, Etien?_

The letter seemed just too suspicious to her. She wondered if the so-called arrangement could be about smuggling. She felt cold about it. Was there any contraband still at the end of the stairs...?

She rose to her feet and made a decision. No one should know about her husband's mistakes, not even loyal Gerald. Wrapping her shawl around her, she went to the basement, using a single candle to illuminate her way. It was damp, and she felt a shiver again. She reprimanded herself: it was not as she was still a little baby, afraid of the night and the darkness. She knew that real monsters lived in the wide-open daylight. There was not even a rat down here; they too had deserted this for a place more lively and full of food. Sometimes they seemed almost human.

Her soft slippers didn't make a sound on the bare soil. She walked about the underground, looking for anything out of order. Only spiders and dust, puddles of water pouring from the stone, some grime and...

Well, since when had they had a relief of a Grecian Muse in the corner? The little figure didn't stand out very much, its lines almost invisible in the dim light. She approached it, looked at it. She hesitantly observed the marks along its beautifully designed hair. The flute that she held to her lips seemed to be sparkling, as if underlined in gold. She softly touched the musical instrument. It plunged into the wall.

Hellen took a step back, astonished. A door had just opened in front of her. There was a long passage in the stone wall, with unlit and elaborate candelabrum every two meters or so. She gasped.

Shadows seemed to play in the dark and winding corridor. Down and down it went, and after a while a little canal added its stream to the local humidity. It was a cold place to be, and the woman wondered what kind of merchandise could be stocked there. She was more and more sure that that must be what it was. Why would someone pay a small fortune for an inhospitable place like this, if not for concealing something illegal, or stolen, or...?

Something caught her attention. Was it a soft echo of...music drifting towards her?

Hellen blinked. Was it possible...that someone lived there? No, no, it couldn't be. She raised her usually soft voice to ask:

"Hello? Is there anybody in there?"

She realized suddenly what a stupid thing she had just done. She was alone, in a secret passage, with someone who hid there and could be up to no good, and she had gone and…given herself away.

The faint music had stopped. She strained her ear, trying to catch what was happening now, with her heartbeat rising. An echo of footsteps seemed to be approaching...

She panicked and began to run away in a mad rush to the safety of her own home. Her candle fell to the floor and went out. Someone was running too, trying to catch her. She did not scream, reserving her breath, desperate tears running down her face.

_Oh, my God, what have I done?_ Coming here alone seemed such a good idea when she thought that Etien smuggled merchandise... And now no one could save her, not even poor, old and loyal Gerald. A distant roar came closer, from the exact opposite direction of the person who was hunting her.

"Hold yourself!" called a masculine, deep voice behind her. "A flood is coming!"

Hellen raised her hands to her forehead and began screaming. Then the water surrounded her.

And after that, only darkness.

---

When she opened her eyes, all she knew was that she was soaked to the bone. She was in a canopy bed. A blanket was over her, and all kinds of junk was everywhere she could turn to look. Colorful gadgets, showy drapery, flashy trunks... All in a chaotic state of disarray, as if someone had thrown junk upon junk in a hurry. Gold, red and green objects lay one over the other. It was kind of unsettling.

"You don't know how to swim, that's a fact... The question now is how you have come here, and if there was anyone with you," said a voice, a one belonging to a mature man, but a voice sweet and trained as if the person who was talking was a singer. She jumped, fully alert now. She turned her head to watch her interlocutor, trying to cover herself with the warm fabric.

"Who are you?" she asked him, covering the trembling of her own voice as she was not able to spot him in the shadows. The man seemed fairly surprised by this.

"Well, well... shouldn't I be the one to do the interrogation? This is my home."

"No, it's mine", she answered so softly it was almost inaudible. She was shivering despite the blanket she was hugging as if her live depended on it.

"Madame... I have lived here for almost four years, and I surely don't remember seeing you come along to any rats' celebration" he told her sharply.

"This is my home" she insisted, unsure.

The man took something off an altar beside him, hesitated for a second and pulled it to his face.

"You are irritating me, Madame. You descend to my home, ask questions as if it was yours to claim, even after I saved your life... Maybe I should be a little more severe with you, hmm?"

She just adjusted the blanket around her defensively, almost covering her face. He sighed. She was obviously terrified, and it seemed impossible to get any straight answer from her as long as she stayed like this.

"My name is Erik. And now, if not for politesse, but just in deference for rescuing you from the flood, could you give me yours, Madame?" he asked somewhat more kindly.

"I'm Hellen Carmichel."

"The gambler's wife?" he said, startled. She simply nodded, looking down as if ashamed. He stepped into the light. She gaped at him

Looking at her was a dark man. He hid his face with a black mask, and wore a fully ornate tailor-made suit. He was elegant, his charcoal hair full of silver strands and tied back in a tail, but something in the way he was standing made her want to disappear from his view. She felt... insignificant. Nothing so unfamiliar, there.

"Your husband sold me the basement and the corridors that went with it. For a quite pretty amount; a small fortune, if you let me rephrase myself." His voice was petulant now, like talking to a none-too-intelligent child.

"So... He did not smuggle". Hellen didn't know if she should be feeling relieved or upset.

"No, he didn't. But...See, Madame, I'm wanted in some countries. By the law," he added as an afterthought. "And you, Mrs. Carmichel, have broken my sanctuary... See what I mean?"

_He's going to kill me!_ "I'm going to scream!"

"Be my guest. Here I use to play the organ and make all sorts of noise and no one has ever heard m..."

"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!" she cried at the top of her lungs. Erik just stared at her.

She jumped of the canopy bed and started running around in frantic terror. There was no way out. She saw dim light in a corridor... that was closed by a barred door. She clutched the bars and screamed for several moments. A collection of wine glasses shattered. Erik's eyes widened.

"Magnificent! Such a high pitch! Such a treasure!" he was exultant. "Sit! Sit down and listen, Madame, try to...Oh".

Hellen had fainted.


	3. Chapter 2: Bargain

**Chapter Two: bargain**

The rain was still falling outside, and it was dark, but she was in her own bed, warm, cozy and dry. Hellen wondered if all has been a dream she had after falling exhausted, fully dressed and without strengh enough to even put in a camisol. It wouldn't be the first time. She stood and undid her strict bun. After it, she slowly got out of her black and severe dress and corselet to the confort of a white, used and parched nightgown. She sighed, feeling a little relief. It had all been a nightmare. She could deal with it. Real life was a lot more constrictive and tought.

"Such a mess of a house you have, Madame," said a man with a marked french accent through the door. She almost cried aloud her distress. He couldn't be there, could he? "Can I come in?"

"I'm not dressed!"

"What you are is broke, Madame," he told her matter-of-factly. "Can I come in or not? There's some matter we should discuss."

She stared blankly at the door, wondering how the criminal had known where to lay her, how he had known where her chamber was. She felt that a simple piece of wood couldn't stop him, but he was asking for her to leave him pass, politly enough. What a strange man.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked in a small voice. She heared him snort. Well, so much for politeness.

"Why should I? Dead, you are of no use to me. Someone else could buy the house, made arrangements, and even if it would be not difficult for me to made them affraid and leave me alone, at the end it would be futile, as I would become known. Again. I'm trying not to stand in the spot light no more. And", he aded softly, "you have a pretty nice voice".

"What does my voice stand for now?". Hellen was shocked.

"I... love singing". He was almost tender now, talking about something that obviusly was his passion, as gambling has been to Etien. "I have done some... questionable things even, to protect the music. My music. Good taste in general is very important for me, you know?" His voice turned stern.

"Questionable things", she said, almost to herself. She shivered.

"Could we stop talking through the door? If I wanted to kill you, I think I had more than my fill of oportunities till now, don't you agree, Hellen?"

"I'm not... Oh", she whispered. She covered herself with a housecoat, and a sharf over it. "Come in", she said, resigned.

He did so, walking slowly, as if hearing all the sounds in the house. Maybe he did. He made a face, even if it was not to simple to spot with the mask all over it. Hellen felt most distresed. She decided to stand up, to retain as much dignity as this strange meeting let her._ It's not decent. He's a man, for God's sake! We should not be alone in my chambers._

"Let's get this straigh. You need money," he said bluntly. "And I need my solitude and peace, that you have destroyed."

"I... what?? I don't... I thought that my husband had...!" _Why was so easy for me to think that Etien could have done something ilegal...? He was not a bad man, as men go! He was a twit, but... _"He never beat me" she said, almost sad at her own perversity for beeing unable to love such a man, to believe in him even now that he was resting forever. Maybe it was her fault that things had gone wrong for the two of them. She sure was rotten to the cores, to be recalling him in such an unpleaseant way. You should never think bad of the dead... And he gave her William. What would have she become, if not for her son? _I don't think I could even stand myself, if not for him. I'm such a waste..._

He didn't seem impresed for her manners and her insustantial moods.

"That's not my point, Madame. I don't care for your motivations, I just... Could you please look at me?", he asked with irritation. "It's an insult to my person that you refuse to, I'm not as offensive to the view as once I though I was".

"Sorry?" Hellen had her eyes on the floor. She trailed them until she was looking at his white shirt front. "You don't understand... You are man, I'm in a nightgown, we are alone, in my room. It's not proper... What would people say?"

He sighed with exasperation.

"Madame, don't be ridiculous. Do you think I'm going to go around talking about our meeting? I live in a cavern!"

"You don't understand!"

"Yes I do, but it barely seems important to me what a very theorical gossip could do to your reputation when we are talking about an emergency. I have seen your boy while you were sleeping..." She moaned at this, becoming very pale. He snorted again and sat in a desgasted armchair. "I have a fortune, you know. I could make all your problems disapear", he teased her in his sweet, seducing voice. "I have lots of time to spend, too. At my age, it generates weariness. Boredom is a tragedy for a man of my genious..."

"How old are you?" interupted the woman.

Eric didn't seem at ease at the question, but answered nonetheless.

"Almost fifty."

"You are not so old, then." He did look his age, though. He had some spots of age in his hands, still strong and skilful enough to play piano with such a grace to charm snakes. What was visible of his face had very marked expresion lines. His suit was old and too weared out, even if it was of good quality. But he walked with suitable grace, even if he acted a little stagy, and his voice was as sweet and controled as an angel could pray for.

"Thank you. My point is, I could repair this wreck of a house, maybe take care of your boy... With two conditions."

"I'm not going to do indecorous things with you" said Hellen in a small voice. She was scared but firm. He stared at her, then bursted out laughing. She looked slightly ofended.

"Sorry, Madame. Don't worry, I was going to spare your modesty... You're a lady, after all." He was still amused but managed to not show it, for this discussion's sake. "What I want from you is your discretion. And... your voice." Hellen stared at him. She was clearly astonished, her almost grey eyes widening and her pale lips opening a little. She was as uncolored as a handful of snow. Eric said seriously, "Did you take singing lessons?"

"Yes... My father was very severe in us having a fine education..."

"I see. Did you like them?"

"Indeed."

"Marvelous!" He's face flared alive. "I was... Well, sort of a... a singing tutor. I would be much delighted to help you enhance that beautiful voice of yours... As a favor for keeping my secret."

"Are you telling me that... You want to pay me for... keeping this to myself? But... I didn't thought to... Say to anybody... What would they say about my poor husband? You know, he was really a good man..." a tear was now making its war across her face, and she lowered her head to hide it.

"I didn't know him very much" if he was surprised with her integrity, he didn't told her so. It wasn't as if she had turned down his offer of money, in fact... "But he did not strike me as an unpleasant man" _not more than any other person, that is._ "I will leave you your money... you can take it under the muse's feet."

"And... how will we meet? Have I to go to your... home?" she asked reluctantly.

"No. I will be the one to search for you," he was adamant about it. "I don't want anybody around my retirement".

"You are so strange" mussed her. "What have you done, that is so bad you have to hide in a basement...?"

"I killed people. And no one seems to undestand my reasons, except myself. It's been quite a time since I did it, though," he said dreamily.

"...What?" _I'm giving shelter to a murderer? No!_ "What reason could justifie a murder?" She was horrified. One of her fine hands got to her blond hair and a nervous finger twisted and twisted it.

He arched one eyebrow at her, even if it was not visible.

"Are you having second thoughts now, Madame? Are you thinking of calling off our agreement?" he said mockingly.

"Yes! I'm..." she turned her face away from him, from his not-so-gentle give. "I'm not going to give your secret away, but I can't live with an assasin! I... You don't even seem repented!"

"Oh? Should I?"

"I can't share this house with you, I simply can not! I... I can sell it to you, if you want it. You can stay on your basement, or go around, I don't care, but I can't live here if you are staying."

"My, my, Hellen, what a tantrum you are making. It doesn't fit you. Stay calm, think, please. Where would you go, uhm? What would you do for a living? And with your sick, weak son?"

"I can be a governess, I..." _leave William alone? I could never!_ "I will arrange something, sure I will" she was almost desperate now.

"Hellen, my dear Madame, let's be realistic... You know you can't do a thing with such a burden as your boy. We both know it. So, refrain yourself and..."

"What asures me you are not going to kill anymore?" _What am I saying? He could kill me here and now!_

"You are beeing a little hypocrithical, don't you? Have you seen where I live? It's as good as a cell..."

"In this country, muderers get hanged", she exclaimed poisonously. She raised a hand to her lips, regreting what she had said. Eric's expression get dark, leaving out all the black humor and sarcasm he had been arbouring till then.

"Why, this sounds like a threat. Are we losing track of with whom are we talking, sweet Madame?" he purred. "Very well... I'll leave you to your ruined house, and your moribund son. We won't meet again." The man raised from the armchair and walked nonchalantly to the exit.

"Wait...!" she cried out. He turned, with a smile so unpleasant it almost hurt to see it.

"Yes, Hellen...?"

"I..." she was on the verge of tears again. His son, his William... She could save him, couldn't she? It was as easy as that... But what if Eric did something to the poor boy? _What if he atacked someone? What if he killed again...? It would be too much responsability, and... It's no good. I can't do it, not even for Billy..._ "It isn't right... My son..."

"I'll tell you something... I knew a woman who had a sick son, as you have... She did the correct thing it seems, and hided him from the world. Do you want to be like her? To do the correct thing and loose your boy?"

"I... I can't... I..."

"It's simple enough, Hellen. Just say you agree. Say yes. Is as easy as that. Come on... Say yes". There was a sadistic smile plastered on his features.

_I... Yes, yes, yes... William... Yes... No, nonononono! Yes, I have to... William...!_

She raised her eyes to meet his, and said softly:

"No". She cuped her face with her hands and started crying, as faintly as her voice had sounded.

He looked at her, his expression unreadable.

"Good night, Fausto... I will not have your soul tonight", he murmured with strange tenderness. And then he was gone.

The morning light surprised her by his son's side, knitting diligently a new scarf for the winter. She had such dark rings under her eyes it was unsetling, even for herself. William was sound sleep, what was a relief, as it was not usual for him to have such a good night. Hellen looked at him, feeling like a horrible mother for not having spared him some of the suffering a good doctor could have healed. She sighed, softly.

A violin's aria reached her ears. She standed. It seemed to come from the first floor...

The woman arrived to the door of the room from wich came the lovely sound. Would it be Eric_...? Maybe I could change my decision... William deserves to have a life... Am I so cruel as to leave him without it, just because of my qualms...?_ She inspired and opened the door. The music stoped.

There was the same room she knew, the sun coming through the window, the dust dancing in the air, the furniture covered with sheets. She walked through it. There was no one to be seen. She looked around and almost triped over a bulk.

It was a great bag, and there was a letter by it. The gaudy skull was on the paper. She opened the bag first, to find a fortune on it. Hellen blinked and opened the letter.

_My most dear Madame Carmichel,_

_You are the third person in my life who does not let her spirit break at preasure or blackmail. Such people is so rare, so precious, they would have to be protected from the bad ones of this world –by some standarts, some could say that I am in this cathegory. Don't worry for me no more: I have sealed the passage in wich you almost loose your life. I renounce to any right of possesion on your basement, and pay you for your kindness in letting me live in it for so long. I think it's a lavish amount, but I hope it does not take you to the corruption of a world as unkind, false and mediocre as we live in... and why not, I hope that your son heals up enough to not be a burden on you no more. _

_Just one more thing__: do not trust men who go after you from now on. They only want money, so try to find contentment by yourself. I do, and it's not as bad as it seems. _

_Yours truly,_

_The Phantom, intruder in the basement_

_P.S: Very few people call me Eric._


	4. Chapter 3: Nightwatcher

Eric had been so satisfied with his cunning plan. He had the widow believing that he had left, and now he could wander around the inner passages of the house without anyone being the wiser. He had been so sure she would spend the money on whims. He had been sure she was going to send his son, once he was a little bit recovered, to a hospital, and then begin a new life. A life of luxury, a life of well-fare. He half expected her to turn selfish and betray all of her believings. He would have bet a fortune on it.

He would've lost it.

He looked at her, holding her son in the night and singing a lullaby softly. William, white as snow, smiled tenderly and let himself be lulled to sleep. He had begun to walk again, and seemed pretty satisfied. Her mother, in turn, looked marginally better now, with her eyes not so sunken in her face, and the dark rings under them gone. The softness of her regard had become obvious to the eye, even if she insisted in wearing the same black dresses of mourning, though now at least they were new. Self-made, but new. They didn't flatter her at all, that was for sure. She seemed even more decolorated in them, like a motherly ghost.

Every day she counted the money left, made calculations, tried to save for his son without depriving him of anything. William had now the better doctor in town, and her mother had even talked to an outside doctor, a german named Jauss with very bad character, but who seemed to be very competent.

Eric had spied her acounts, and was very surprised to see which project she was investing so much money in. Hellen was saving for her son to go to Oxford.

He remembered little of his own mother. He knew everytime he tried to kiss her or give her a hug, or even touch her, she pushed him aside and replaced the mask on his face. He wondered what would have become of him, had he had a mother like Hellen. She was... Well, different, that was for sure.

He remembered quite well being locked in a cage, being exhibited as an animal. He recalled the humiliation, the rage, the incomprehension. Why was he there? Why had her mother left him? Why did the people attack him?

William received so much love and attention, it almost stunned him. He was sure now, Hellen would never leave him, no matter how difficult the circumstances.

He couldn't stop himself. He was always behind her, spying on her. She was the mother he had longed so much for. She was...

She was not beautiful, that was clear. She was a far cry from Christine. She didn't have an ounce of that incredible spirit he had loved so much in his pupil. She could almost be called vulgar.

But she was not.


	5. Interlude: Christine

It was a peaceful, sunny day. Raoul was talking softly about his journey, and Christine smiled to him, with unmarred love. Sometimes it felt just like it had when they had just meet. Sometimes it was even better. The mutual knowledge hadn't erased their undestanding, or the way they'd look at each other. Everyone that knew them was sure it was the happiest couple ever.

If only they'd known their past.

Pierre entered the chamber, runing. He was almost a man, with the same dark and weavy hair of his mother, and eyes as expresive and determined as his father. His features were an afortunate mix of the two of them.

"Mother, Father! Can I go tomorrow with my friends to see the park of the Tuilleres? They'll be a nice group, and everyone is going to be there!"

"And good evening to you too, Pierre", said Raoul, almost mockingly. His son stoped his speech and straightened himself. The boy pushed a rebel lock behind his ear, then smiled impishly. He knew his own charm for good, that one.

"Good evening, Father," he chanted almost."Good evening, Mother."

"What's with your friends going to Tuilleres?" asked Christine, leaving here lavour to the side. She was smiling. Her son had that effect in everyone, just because of his natural _savoir-faire_. Everyone felt in his charm: he was always surrounded by friends, and Christine could easily preview that very soon, girls will be throwing themselves into him.

He began to happily chatter about the activities that were planned by his friends. Pierre was as popular as one could pray for. Sometimes, his mother was almost worried about it, as if it could attract him some kind of misfortune. In ancient times, people used to say that pretty, sensible persons would fall to the effect of the evil eye if they where too outstanding. And that, Pierre was: bright, gorgeous, intelligent, healthy, charming and a little bit too smart for his own good.

Raoul was laughing with his son's enthusiasm. "Very good, very good, young man. You can go. But be a good boy and don't make anything that would sadden your mother".

There was a mischievous spark in the boy's eyes. Christine felt a call of alarm. Pierre was smiling again. "Don't worry, Father. I wouldn't! We're just going to see the park and make some exercise."

Christine was almost tempted to forbid him to go on the spot. But she could never explain why she was thinking to do so. So she just nodded, feeling a little unhappy about everything, but not knowing how to put her finger on the strange premonition that was haunting her.


	6. Chapter 4: Intrusion

When the butler entered the room, Hellen was doing her usual inspection of the accounts. She was satisfied enough with her savings. Even if she didn't search for a work or rent a room, she'd have money to send William to a good school.

"Yes, Gerald?" she asked to the old man.

"Madam, there's a lady who asks to see you. She seems French."

Hellen frowned, surprised. A French woman…? She didn't know any. Maybe… No. Whatever his flaws were, Etien had been faithful. Hadn't he? She rose from the comfortable armchair she had come to prefer.

"Serve us some tea in the lounge, please."

"Yes, madam", with a bow, the butler went to retrieve the drink. Hellen went to welcome the stranger.

Standing in the entrance hall by the windows was a blonde woman over her thirties, but that was the only thing that could be of any resemblance between the two. She was petite, graceful, with big, nervous blue eyes. She dressed into the latest Parisian fashion, she was well groomed, and, even as a mature woman, beautiful. She was elegant, maybe a little bit flashy, but in good taste. She made the colorful dress she was wearing seem the most sensible piece of clothing a woman could be into. Hellen though that, had she wore it, she would have look like a fool.

"Good day" said soberly Hellen.

"Good day, _madame_. Are you Hellen Carmichel?" the stranger had a wooden box on her little hands. It seemed huge on them, but it was not. It was just the size to contain a Bible at most. "The widow of Etien Carmichel?"

"Yes. Could you please tell me why I have the pleasure of your visit, Miss…?"

The woman's face colored red, an attractive effect even if she was not on the age to show such timidity. "Sorry… I'm Meg Giry. Maybe you have heard of me, I'm one of the main artists on the Opera of Paris…"

"So… you're an artist".

"Yes… And some say that I am pretty good" she smiled kindly.

"Would you like some tea, Miss Giry?"

She seemed to hesitate, but then nodded. All her gestures seemed a little pressed, nervous, almost spasmodic as if she was a little, colorful, exotic bird. Hellen felt very homely in comparison. She served the beverage while her guest chit-chatted about nonsense. Even her voice was beautiful. They seated on the lounge. Meg seemed about to stand and start running around at any moment. She looked around, and then caught herself at the inconvenience and straightened herself. It was almost painful to see, that lively creature trying to be serious. Hellen felt a wave of lassitude just looking at the other woman.

"So… how did you meet my husband? He was not so interested in arts, so…" said Hellen. And then she palled. Was that petite, nervous woman Etien's mistress?

Meg seemed to become even smaller. Her caught expression didn't do anything to calm the widow's suspicion. "Well… In fact I didn't meet him. Not in all his life. I did not know him."

_Liar. Prostitute. _She watched as the artist opened the box to show her the contents. There lay a white mask, maybe made of china. It remind her of the black one Eric wore. She looked at Meg without expression. "What's that?" she asked. The other woman was looking at her, searching for something. Well, she wasn't about to giver her any clues.

"You don't know what it is? You have never seen something like this?"

"No. Is it for some modern play? Why does it cover only half face? It's strange". She drank her tea. It tasted good, since it has been so long since she was deprived of a luxury drink like that. It was one of the only fancies she did indulge in.

"Dear _madame_… It's most important to me if you could tell me if you have seen something similar to this mask. When your husband was alive, he did contact someone who… Well, he used to wear this. And he has a well-known alias that I know for a fact that was in some correspondence your husband received. Please, you have to help me. This man was looking for something, I don't know what. He spent an enormous quantity to pay for… I don't know. But he did purchase something. I need to find him… Please… Do you recall something? Anything at all?"

_Floozy_. "No I don't. Sorry, Miss Giry, but I don't know what you're talking about. It seems nonsense to me."

"If only you could tell me what your husband sold to this man…The son of one of our mutual friends… well, it's complicated" Meg seemed almost desperate.

"Sorry… my husband did waste large amounts of money, but I don't know how he restored…" _Why am I telling this? _

"Well… then excuse me for wasting you time" said softly the blonde. She stood.

"You're not drinking your tea?" asked Hellen. In her insides, she couldn't believe someone so ill mannered as to leave after been served that exquisite infusion without drinking it.

"I'm not into social formalisms, _madame_… In fact I know when I'm not wanted. Please excuse me. I'll take my leave. Have a nice afternoon. But… If you do remember something, I would be in the Grand Hotel. It's important… an old friend's son of this man is in danger." She smiled and then fled.

Hellen was shocked. She remained some minutes watching the door, wondering about this strange meeting and drinking her own tea, quietly.

Then she realized the other woman had left the wooden box in her hurry.

* * *

In the garret the light was dim, the temperature high. Hellen looked for a place to leave the inconvenient mask. She didn't want anyone to see it and start asking questions. She has a debt to the man, in some twisted, strange way. 

"What did she want?"

Hellen gasped. "Eric…!"

There he was, by a mirror, looking through the window at the spring that was blossoming in the garden outside. It was a little bit wild. She had to look for a gardener, maybe. He turned to face her. Today he was into a silver mask.

"What are you doing here?" she softly asked.

"I… was in the city, and saw a… person I used to know, longtime ago. It was not my intention to bother you again. I just… wanted to know what she was interested on."

Hellen was sure he was lying to her. Or was not? She shook her head. "She wanted to know about this." She discovered the half mask to him.

That was an interesting reaction. Eric paled and extended his hand, as if to touch it. Then he retired as if it was a scorpion lying on the box. "It was… so long ago… I am not that person… anymore." He gasped, pained. A tear found its way across his face.

She took him by the hand and guided him to an old chair to sit down a little. She rested her hands in his shoulders, comforting him.

"So long ago," he repeated. "So, so long ago…" It was as if he was drowning.

"Breathe. Breathe deep."

He was trembling. "What… did she say? What did she want?"

"Please calm down… She asked about you. She said she was searching for you because of an old friend's son. She said it was important." She did not retire her comforting touch. Eric looked too much smashed, defeated.

"It has to be an ambush. It has to be… What more? Did she say something more?"

"Well… she said she would be at the Grand Hotel. But you don't have to go, you know… I did not say anything about you."

"Did you not…? What a kind gesture… Why? We did not make any contract at the end that I recall."

She seemed surprised. "It's not as I had any information that would help that… woman. I though you were long gone. And… you did help me." She was so eager to explain herself. It was ridiculous. "I… don't know. I really don't know why."

"Beware, Hellen… Someone could think you feel in debt with me," he smiled without humor. He was still shacking. He almost felt sorry for his rudeness when the warm hands were gone from his tense shoulders.

"I see that you are more relaxed. You have recovered your sarcasm," she said bitterly.

"I… think I should be grateful for your attitude. So thank you."

"You are welcome." She raised and turned to the windows. It was almost twilight now.

"I heard that your child has recovered a lot."

"Yes." The smile on her face could have made her almost beautiful. Almost. "He is quite well now, thank you."

"Can I say something to you? In my experience, protégés tend to end being more than you hoped or prayed for."

"I… think I don't understand…"

"In the end, they leave you alone, with nothing at all and no life to live. You should think about doing something about yourself, _madame_."

"I do not have a life" she answered. Her face was now in shadows, her expression difficult to guess from her voice. "I'm old. I'm a widow. I had enough of life… I had enough of anything." Her voice died.

Eric had take of his mask. The almost inexistent light was enough to illuminate a face that was material for the worst nightmares one could have. Half of it was normal, human, almost handsome. The other half was so deformed that the woman had to take a breath and pray not to faint. It would have been rude. She could not place what make him so hideous. It was as if some repressed fear was crying inside her. The skin looked like burned. The right eye was almost invisible under a mass of meat that should have been his eyebrow. The scalp was in clear view, and it was as if the skull itself was trying to boil the skin and surface. He had no eyelashes, no nostril in the right side of his head. The cheekbone tensed the flesh, almost yellow. And there was something more… Some anomaly that made even these physical flaws almost unimportant. She was unable to say what was that made her so uneasy. She just know there was something incredibly wrong on him, on his face.

"I'm a monster. I have no life" he said, almost gently. "I have nothing, just my music… and my angel of music, my muse, was taken away from me. I have no choice, but to stay forgotten… or so I thought. But if she needs him… If she calls me again, my angel, my sweet Christine… She would have me. She would have him." His face was the pure portrait of despair as he looked at the widow and placed the white half mask covering his deformed face. Hellen closed her eyes at last, for some seconds, not so much for apprehension as for some strange sense of modesty, as if she had viewed something too intimate. "Thank you," told her Eric.

"…Why?"

"There is not so many people who know what it is to change your face and respect it."

"I don't… know what you're talking about." Hellen felt at loss, as if something was hiding from her. Maybe it was her common sense.

He smiled. There was a small paper on his hand. "You know, Hellen… You lie terribly. This was in the box, you know? Well… I have to go now."

"Yes… Goodbye."

"Farewell, Hellen. It has been my pleasure." And with a cryptic smile, he was gone.


	7. Interlude: Meg

**Interlude: Meg**

She was exhausted of turning around. This time, though, Meg was sure that she was right. That stiff widow has not given her a clue about the creature that her best friend used to call "The Angel of Music", and who everybody else called "The Phantom of the Opera". That monster… She shivered. But Christine needed him. Meg was scared, but she would not show it.

It had been a very hard search. Though the look of the Phantom was so characteristic, so striking, it had been so many years since he was gone… People often preferred to forget what they couldn't accept. And the Phantom was…

She shivered again. He was barely human. He was a monster: a killer, a creature of the darkness. But for some reason, wherever he passed, a trifle of rumors spread. Like he was a living legend or something like that. The impersonation of the Oogie Boogie Man. She giggled. Yes, the terror of the children. But he was so real…

From the shadows emerged the creature. Meg almost cried out. His face was covered with the same white mask she had given the widow. She had been right!

"You. Pathetic woman. You can barely sing. You only dance and think your interpretation of the art of the music is enough to satisfy the insipid taste of your stupid public…"

"The Phantom… You have come at last ". Meg exhaled with sudden relief.

The man watched her with evident disgust. "Christine. Her son. What has happened?"

"Pierre… Has been kidnapped."

"And what does the police do?"

"No… you don't understand. Christine needs you. It seems… No human in the world can help Pierre. No one, but you."

"Are you implying that I am no human?" He was mocking her.

She gasped. "Please… please…"


	8. Chapter 5: Abduction

**Chapter five: Abduction**

A month later, Hellen entered his son's chamber and sat by the bed. William was better looking now than he had been in all of his short life. He had taken a likeness to sit by the window and look outside, with an eager face. His mother smiled at him kindly.

"Good afternoon, love", she said softly.

William turned and his face lit. "Good afternoon, mother", he answered. He had some color in his cheeks and his hair was shiny.

"How are you feeling today, my sweet?"

"Fine! Very good, mommy", he was almost bright with health. He hesitated a little, looked shyly at his mother, and added softly: "Can I ask you something, mother?"

"Of course, my dear", answered Hellen. She wasn't used to his son blushing so much. She hoped the doctor had not told another inconvenience to the poor child.

"How long do you plan to be mourning?"

Hellen looked at William, almost gaping. That was really an unexpected question… "Well, it's not been a year yet since… Etien died. The usual time, I think…"

"And how much is this?"

"Five years, maybe. Why do you ask?" She fixed him with a piercing look. William blushed even more, if possible. "Come on, dear… You know that, even if I stay in mourning, you don't have to stop your life, do you?" she told him softly. She was smiling warmly, and looked almost beautiful. "If you wish to be with friends, or even take them to home, it's not a problem…"

"I don't have friends", he answered, lowering his eyes. "Well… I have one now, but he's a secret!" he whispered.

Hellen widened her eyes. His son looked at her uncertain, but she smiled still, deciding not to press the subject, but with an expression that told him clearly that he could trust her, if he wanted.

"If I show you something, would you be angry with me?" he asked.

"Of course not, my love" she said.

William took some air, and begun to sing. He had a charming voice, maybe not so strong as her mother's was, but mild and expressive, and rich in his own way. Hellen was very surprised to recognize the song. It was the strange air Eric had played on his organ the night they had met. In William lips it was almost innocent, without any of the aggressiveness or wildness that Eric seemed to give anything he did.

"William! What a magnificent voice you have!" said Hellen. She was amazed at him.

William blushed again. "Thank you, mother…! He told me that I didn't have to sing before you. But it's been a month, and I don't know where he is, and I feel lonely, and.."

"Love…" Hellen sighed. "It's not bad to have friends. Maybe… Maybe he's been busy. Know what we will do? I'll look for a mentor. He will help you enhance that beautiful voice of yours, and learn a lot of things… And when he tells us you are prepared, and you feel healthy enough, maybe you could go to school, to make new friends. Would you like that?"

William almost jumped in his excitement. "Yes, mother! Are you… you're serious, aren't you?" he said, unable to believe the incredible chance he was being given.

"Of course I am". Hellen stroke his hair. "But you have to take care of yourself, and become very healthy. You will take care, won't you?"

"I promise!"

Hellen kissed his son's forehead, smiling. She was so happy now, it was almost impossible to believe she was the same woman of two months ago…

---

Hellen was a little bit distressed. She couldn't help but think about how Eric had been visiting her son. How had he entered the house to the room of the kid? And just behind her back! It was not as if he was not capable of that and more, she said to herself, remembering how he had transported her to her own bed. She blushed. He was so... improper! And when he had payed her that gold, she had been so sure he was gone... but he was like a ghost or a cat, coming and going at his own will. She couldn't help smiling at the idea: indeed, he was just like a cat, always doing what he wanted to, upright and stiff, and with that little air of superiority. She wouldn't have to buy a pet for Will, did she? Would he purr if she offered him a pot of milk...? She almost chuckled at that idea.

Looking through the window, she wondered if he was going to come back. He didn't seem the kind to get attached to someone or something, except his music and that Christine, so maybe not. She just hoped that William had not become to enamoured with his only friend. Outside, it was dark and the sky was covered with dark clouds that prevented you from seeing the moon rising over the little park. She sighed. Well, it was more than time to go to sleep.

Suddenly she heard that noise. She was on her feet in no time, and running towards William's room. The sound of glass breaking had come from there... Was Bill hurt?

The door was locked. She banged on it. From inside she heard noises, and the voice of her son calling her at the top of his lungs. "Mommy, mommy!", he cried.

"William, open the door right now!" she panicked. She heard something inside: rustling and fighting, and some clings as if someone was stomping on the floor and hitting fragments of glass. At her back there was movement. She turned, hoping to see Gerard, but it was not him, but someone little and tiny like a little kid. "What...?" The intruder growled and disappeared. Hellen cried out, calling for her son. William was not shouting anymore. Oh, God, what was happening...?

"Hellen?" asked softly a female voice from inside the room. Hellen was frozen. She knew instinctively that someone with a voice like this ought to be vicious and cruel. It reminded her, in some way, of the look in Eric's eyes when he has told her, nonchalantly, that she had intruded his territory.

"My son", she answered, terrified. "Where is my son? Please, I don't hear him. What have you done to my William?". She would have loved to be sure of herself, demanding instead of begging.

"We have him down there, where everything is dark and veeeery scary" mocked her the soft voice. "And we can do him a lot of harm, you know...? We can make him bleed, and cry, and worse". There was laughter in the voice, as if everything was a big joke for her, or a game she was anxious to start. Hellen was about to start crying herself.

"What do you want from me?" she asked in a broken voice.

"You don't know?" Something at her back crossed the corridor. Hellen couldn't stand to turn her back to the door.

"Please, give me back my son! I don't know what you want, but please return him to me! Give him back, please, I beg you...!

"It's all up to you, Hellen... give us the Phantom, make him return what he had stolen. It's not that much, don't you think?

"What are you talking about!?" Hellen didn't understand what was all that nonsense about a Phantom. She only wanted William to be safe... She scratched the door, breaking her nails at it, growing desperate. "My William is innocent, please, leave him alone...! He's sick! He's not strong enough, please leave him alone, please, please..." she was crying now, so distressed she couldn't think straight.

"I see that you haven't understood me, Hellen... I'm going to eat your son's heart if you don't give me what I want". There was no laughter in the voice anymore. "Ask him, Hellen. Ask him. You have till the next full moon".

"William, please...!! Leave him..." she couldn't finish her desperate petition. The door opened and she ran through it. There was a mirror broken to pieces, a tunnel into it. The bed was in disorder. William was nowhere in sight, and there was no one anywhere. Hellen raised her hands to her head and resumed her screaming. And then, she fainted.

A.N.: Sorry for being so long in updating. This new chapter is completly un-betaed, so I hope it makes sense to my english readers (if I still have one after so long a wait). I'll contact my beta in no time, and I hope to update another chapter this week.


	9. Chapter 6: I beg you

**Chapter six: I beg you**

It was still dark when Hellen recovered her senses. She was in her bed, and there was someone with her in the room. It felt so similar to something she had already lived that she could have laugh, given her son was not kidnapped. She knew who was the man sitting at her armchair, staring at the fireplace. There was no mistaking that stiff and proud pose.

"Eric", she whispered. He turned to look at her. When had he returned...? He didn't say a word. Hellen talked softly, with a voice to hoarse from shouting non-stop. "My son... they have taken my William away..."

"Yes" he said at least. "They have taken him. Yes."

"Why...? Who they where? What did they want? I don't understand...! My son has never done harm to anyone..."

Eric was eyeing the floor now. How strange. "...It's me. Don't you remember my letter...? Everyone called me the Phantom more than a decade ago. I'm sorry, Hellen." The words seemed difficult to him. He did not have the habit of apologizing.

"What...?"

"Some years ago" he began to explain, "I lived in the basements of the Grand Opera of Paris. I used to write my music there and make a living though blackmailing the owners". He smiled a little. He didn't seem ashamed of it. "I was the phantom, the ghost of the theatre. It felt... good." He touched his mask, and then resumed his tale. "I... fell for a young singer, a prodigy of beauty and talent. She had the most beautiful voice I ever heard, and she was so pure... I became obsessed with her, till the point I could do anything to make her stay by me". He seemed now sad and dreamy, melancholic. "I though I was a monster, and acted as one. She showed me I was a man... and then parted with her true love. She was never meant to be mine..."

Hellen lowered her gaze. She could not remember having that kind of feelings, that love so absolute that could destroy anything that stood on its way. The loneliness in his voice though, the regret, the longing was so similar to some of the things she had felt since William had fell ill that it was too much for her. She didn't want him to feel like her. It was embarrassing to feel like a murderer.

Eric was looking away, lost in his memories, and did not pay mind to any of her thoughts, thanks God.

"What do these people want?" She asked softly. "Why had they attacked my son?"

Eric took air. "Some weeks ago, someone fell in love with a boy, almost a kid. She kidnapped him and took him to a place where normal people can't go. The mother of the boy asked help from a monster to chase another.

"That's the help that was required from you... months ago" said Hellen, her eyes alight with understanding.

"Yes" he breathed softly. She reached out and touched Eric's hand. He was surprised. It was not common to find someone who would touch him voluntarily, yet Hellen have done that twice since they had meet, even if she didn't like him too much.

"She told me she would eat my son's heart" she whispered and begun to cry softly.

"I'm sorry", he repeated, at lost. Then he added. "You would never see your son again."

Hellen howled like a trapped animal in agony, and then her cry turned to gasps and shouts of pain.

Eric would have liked to leave things like this. It was too much to ask of him to help yet another woman. He was old, too old to be chasing shadows, and Hellen was no Christine. He didn't have a debt to her, like he did to the former singer. And she was so centred in William... he remembered that kind of obsession. It was no good. She was unable to see anyone who wasn't her precious son. How he hated this. Stupid woman.

But that was just what attracted him to her, that motherly feeling he had lacked all of his life. If only his own mother had been like her... How he would have loved her to be just like Hellen. Would he had been any different then? Would Christine have loved him, instead of Raoul? Would Hellen?

No, that was ludicrous. Had he not been a monster, he wouldn't have even meet them. He shook his head.

"What did she say?" he asked. "Did she told you some term, some time when she would kill the kid?"

"Till the full moon. Oh, my William...!"

Eric seated in front of Hellen. "How much do you love your son, Hellen?" he pressed.

"With all my heart! He's the only good thing that I have left, he's... he's... oooh!" she seemed unable to stop crying. It was irritating, and Eric couldn't help thinking that maybe it would be better to leave it be. If she lost her child, maybe then she would be able to have a life. Yes, of course, and turn to him, and sing for him all day, and admire him like Christine never did... Eric mocked himself for this childishness. It was more probable that she left the house and married someone of the real world, turning into some heartless woman, or that she committed suicide unable to live with the emptiness of losing William. She was so dependent it unnerved him.

Eric sighed. "I know where he is".

Hellen looked at him with eyes red and desperate. "Help me", she whispered almost to softly to hear. "Please help me, I beg you..."

"I can't give her what she asks, Hellen".

"I understand" she said shacking. "I wouldn't ask you to... I wouldn't want another mother to suffer the same as me... but something... something! We must have something we can do...

"First of all, stop crying" ordered Eric, losing his temper. She tried to, but the tears seemed impossible to stop from falling. She was not hiccuping any more, and she did look a little bit more serene, though. "Your son has been kidnapped by dwarfs."

"... What? They're from some circus?"

Eric almost laughed at the sheer ingenuity of that woman. She had had prove of something unnatural going around, but she still hold on tight to her sense of reality. Sometimes common sense was too strong to be true. "Not exactly. They're a different kind of living beings. They're diggers. Normal people doesn't see them usually, but they remember them in their legends.

Hellen crossed herself. "But... but... I don't understand" she said softly.

"Her Queen is a magic creature, you could call her a fairy. She took the son of my... friend to her underground city. She will take William there, too.

Hellen was horrified. In her mind, some kind of Hell was what awaited to people who went underground. "You mean that my son has been kidnapped by demons...?

"Well, you could say it so". He looked at her somehow astonished, and disgusted, maybe a little bit amused too. She was so simple minded...!

"What can I do...?" Hellen pressed her hands together.

"Would you descend to Hell to look for your son? Do you feel ready for the task? I don't think she'll kill him, not really... if you just leave him be, maybe he'll find a new life, a life of pleasure in the underground...

Hellen crossed herself again, white as chalk. "My William..." She stood, still in her nightgown. For once, she did not worry about it. She was trembling hard. "Yes. Yes, I'll do it".

"Then let's go" he said, guiding her back to her son's room. Eric looked away from her, at the broken mirror. "I hope you'll forgive me for this", he motioned to the tunnel that was in view now. "It seemed like a good idea to... be able to move inside the house. And the lad liked the company" he said, almost as an afterthought.

"Ask me after we have William back" she answered. She looked around. A cold wind blew from the overture. "Where are the servants?" she asked suddenly. "I haven't see them. Why has nobody...?"

"The servants! Oh, yes, we must deal with them". Eric frowned an instant. "You know, they couldn't hear the noise. They were fast asleep when the Queen took your son away, maybe with the help of a little magic. Did you see anyone at your back, at the moment everything took place?" Hellen remembered the sound of steps behind her, the strange figure she had mistaken for a kid. She nodded. Eric looked almost satisfied. "Here you are. It was done for you, to distress you, to make me fall into this trap."

"And now you're falling" she said softly. "Why?"

He looked away from her. "Because it's my fault" he said briskly. He was not the generous kind, but he wanted to do this. Because she was what a mother should be. Because she was afraid, but she was going to do this. Because she had begged him. "Don't waste time. Write a note to the service. They need some rational excuse" he said humourlessly.

"A visit to a foreign doctor" she said promptly. "Someone who is out of town and..."

"Will do" Eric cut her speech, not interested in minor details. "Write it now and let's go", he ordered.

She went to the desk she used to write on in the long nights she had looked for William at the worst of his illness. Eric approached to the broken glass, thinking what a pity it was... he would do one of his tricks to cover the entrance to his dark world.

"Have you any trousers? Of your husband, or to horse ride..."

She looked at him, bewildered, and shook her head. "No, Etien's clothes were auctioned. But I have one horse ride skirt" she added.

"Don't worry" he answered. "Are you done? Well, let's go". And with that, he went into the darkness, downstairs.

Hellen crossed herself one last time and went after him.


	10. Chapter 7: Antechamber

**Chapter seven: Antechamber**

The last time Hellen was there, she had heard the water before it almost drowned her. It was strange, a little dreamlike, how she had not questioned the presence of that underground stream. Now, Eric was leading her towards it, and it marvelled her. It was not at all like the catacombs or drain she would had expected under a house. Water dripped all around, and it was cold. She shivered, remembering now that she hadn't even an shawl to cover herself over her nightgown.

"Have we to go far?" She asked.

Eric looked at her and entered a boat that seemed to be waiting at the underground stream. "It depends", he said laconically.

Hellen frowned. Sometimes Eric answered like a bad tempered child. She stared at him, waiting for some explanation.

He sighed. "You see, Hellen... the reason why Christine asked me to purchase her son was that I can manage some kind of... how could I explain". He looked at the ceiling for some instants. "I'm a magician, an illusionist. I can work through the myths and images that the Queen and her kind conjure. But I need help to do so. I need your voice, Hellen".

Hellen shivered again. What was that nonsense...? It was Eric's idea of a joke? It wasn't funny... but she knew that he was not joking at all. If dwarfs existed, why don't believe in magic now...? All her good sense was not helping her. She had to change her mind about reality: There were monsters. There was magic. She should accept Eric's word and deal with the consequences. If she became as mad as he was so be it, as long as she recovered William. "My voice? What for?"

"I need you to sing for me. I need you to become... the spirit of my music". He seemed in pain telling her that. Hellen wondered why. "I'll give you the score and the words, but I need you to sing. When an artist, a real one, sings for me, my illusions become strong and I can deal with things that are not human at all. I can impose myself over them". He paused, eyeing her. "You told me you used to sing. Let's hope you hadn't forget how."

She bit her tongue and accepted his help to enter the boat. "Thank you" she said. "Give me the script, please".

He nodded. "Here you are". He gave her a sheet of paper that she looked through from top to toe. It read '_The Phantom of the Opera: a Duet'_. She raised her eyes to Eric, uncertain. He was staring at her almost hungrily. "Sing for me, my angel of the music" he whispered.

"_In sleep he sang to me..._" she started. She was doubtful at the beginning, but the piece was extravagant and difficult, and soon she was absorbed by it. Eric joined his voice to hers, turning the song into something different and wicked, somehow sick and beautiful at the same time. The passion that filled his educated voice challenged her. She gave it all her might, and then...

... And then, everything changed around her. Ornate chandeliers raised from the dark water, alight despite their origins. Mist raised around them, shining and twisting, silvery and capricious. Eric's voice turned younger, more demanding, more anxious, spinning through her mind hypnotically. Hellen felt about to faint. _The Phantom of the Opera is there... inside my mind..._ It seemed true to her. He was reshaping the world with his music, using her voice, entering her thoughts and leaving her empty and fascinated, spent and exultant. It felt good. It felt wrong. She didn't remember feeling so free, ever. It was as if she had turned into another person, someone young and brave.

The boat stopped. They were in Eric's refuge now. Hellen watched it with curiosity. She recalled it like some junk and trash store. Now, everything looked glamorous and intriguing instead of garish. She turned to Eric, surprised. Had he remodelled? Or was the magic affecting her here too? Hellen cached him looking at her as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Eric? What happens?" she asked.

He shook his head. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. "Nothing bad, my angel. Don't fear... everything's alright".

Hellen didn't think so. She approached him, but he stepped back. She frowned.

Eric looked away from her, refusing to meet her eyes. "There's some trousers you could use by the screen. Go on and change yourself, I'll... prepare everything for the journey".

"Alright" said meekly Hellen, not knowing how to react. Eric was acting strange. And wasn't he different...? He looked... No, he was definitely younger. He was thirty at the most. She turned and went over the screen, trying to process that change. Was it some spell he had cast over her, or over himself? She wasn't sure she liked the results.

She searched for something to wear and ended with the most sensible trousers she could find. Everything was like the kind of clothes you could see in a theatre. It made sense, if he was from the Paris Opera, she though. She sighed and looked for a mirror to see herself in that new costume. She gaped at her reflection. Because who looked back at her from the glass was not the decolorated middle-aged woman she was used to see.

A girl was there instead, all gentle curls, white skin and brown, passionate eyes. Her body was that of a professional dancer. She was so young and beautiful it almost hurt to see her. She raised her hand to touch the mirror and saw her doing exactly the same movement. Her hand was young and stronger now. Yes, it wasn't the reflection that was wrong. It was her. She understood now why Eric had eyed her like this. Now she knew why she was feeling different. She was not herself anymore.

Damn Eric and his magic.


	11. Chapter 8: Turmoil

**Chapter eight: turmoil**

To be young again was a pain, Eric though. His mind was spinning with sensations and the exultation of feeling like his old self. It was not at all like recalling, but more like being more mad than ever. The voice that whispered in his thoughts was telling him to go and take Christine with him, forever, to kill Raoul, to be again the Phantom in spirit as he was in the flesh. His young self had not doubted ever, had not cared about anyone, had done terrible things for his music, and he was not sure he wanted to be so free again, so selfish, so alone. He had obsessed over Christine, over her beauty and voice, but he hadn't been able to lover her. Not till the end; his only act of love had been to let her go, to release her from the darkness he embraced. Now, he was feeling again young and free, and he was not sure he liked the sensation. He didn't like to be himself again. He had learned in the hard way, and he didn't want to unlearn everything again. But he felt wild now, and he knew how he would feel when everything was in place again. He was not looking forward to it.

He hated this. He only hoped Hellen knew what a pain all this was to him. But maybe she did. What would be her reaction when she saw her face in a mirror and discovered that she was a young beauty now? Maybe he didn't like to be himself again, but at least he knew he was him. She didn't know Christine, and would be rather surprised to be her.

_Take Christine. It's now or never. You have her with you and no Raoul would ever appear to take her from you, not this Christine, not this time..._

_Shut up. You don't exist anymore._

Eric paused and resumed his search for weapons, almost sighing. He was upset. If only Hellen could forget his son...! But would he like her if she did that? Not really. So maybe he was helping her out of selfishness, or maybe he had improved a little since Christine. He preferred to think that the love of his live had really changed him, but go guess. He was not so different since then. He liked better music than people, and probably always would. But maybe he cared a little bit more about the rest of the world.

She came back, dressed in what he recognised as the pageboy's costume for "Il Muto". He remembered what a good laugh he had over Carlotta's croaking like a toad... alright, maybe not. Not about everybody, at least. He still felt the old perverse joy in humiliating her and the fools that ruled his theatre... and triumph in seeing his Christine in the leading role, as her pupil. As it was meant to be.

_Don't let her go, ever. She's my Christine, my Christine..._

_No, she's not._

He helped Hellen get into the black gondola, not looking at her. It was painful to see again young and sweet Christine. When he had gone to Paris to see her again and rescue her son, she had aged prettily, but she was at least different from his memories, easier to face. The love for her was there still, but not the obsession. And he could look at her and see her as Raoul's wife, not as his singer.

"It will wear off" he said softly to Hellen. "Think of it as a costume for a performance, nothing else. We need the illusion to work through the myths of the Queen."

"Yes". The voice was Hellen's one, a little more deep than Christine's, shy and soft, incongruous in these lips. It was a relieve. If it had been the all-too-familiar voice of his pupil, he didn't know if he could have withdraw from the madness of believing she was who she looked like.

"Let's go. To the darkness of the underground, my little Faust. Let's make our way to Hell."

---

Hellen was fidgeting her fingers, unable to stop. It eased her mind to see that the old habits were hard to die, even in this stranger's body. There were songs in her she was sure she had never heard or learned, and she was sure it was Eric's doing. He had boasted about his music before, about how "good taste" was a necessity to him. She pried at him, thinking about it. Was he the author of the duet? Of the wild piece she heard when she descended to his home the first time, and that William had repeated for her?

And then she gaped in shock.

_Was it like this?_ she thought. _Was I like this, so young and foolish?_

Eric was not paying attention to her, thanks God. He was staring far away, at some point in the distance. He was lost in his thoughts and showed only the good half of his face. 'Almost handsome', she had thought before. Well, there was clearly no 'almost' now: turning thirty made all the darkness he had showed in his aged self unexpectedly attractive. He looked dangerous and striking, with a little oversized but aristocratic nose, high cheekbones and that haughty expression she usually found so unsettling and irritating. He was fascinating in a sick, sick way.

Now she remembered what it was to be a teenager, all feelings and no good sense. It was disgusting. Her heart was beating like a drum, just as it had when she had met Etien for the first time, that smug young man with the big grin in his face that tell her he was no good news. Now she recalled how it was to be in love with her husband, and it was terrific.

Oh, nuts.

She was in love again.

Wasn't it ludicrous?

---

Author's note: no, I'm not planning to turn Hellen into Christine 2.0. I don't plan either to turn this story into a big fluff, with Eric falling at Hellen's feet declaring his undying love. As Eric said, it's all like a costume to work their way into the world of the Queen of dwarfs. It has other effects, that's true, because a good illusion in the fae world affects the mind, not only the body. Hellen and Eric will have to deal with it, and learn a little bit about themselves. Eric has gone half the way already thanks to Christine, but to Hellen there's a good deal to do before she understands who she is, what she truly wants, and how to earn it. I'm not planning to leave her out the hook too soon.

By the way, Hellen's reaction is based in my own experience when I saw the last film with Gerald Butler in it as the Phantom. Come on, every teenager was screaming for him! He's the worst Phantom ever in this sense, because you can't see him as anything other than a HUNK. I've tried to justify it in my story with my description of his other half as a more than a little bit disgusting, and with a plot that will show itself in next chapters. At the end, it will make sense, I promise. Thanks to Art0rius who created the original idea of why Eric could be so handsome and terrific at the same time, as he did create the original story. You're the best, babe.


	12. Chapter 9: Muse

Chapter nine: Muse

He knew that this time there was a trap waiting for them. It couldn't be any other way: the Queen was a flirty jealous slut, and she didn't like for her "toys" to be taken away from her. He hoped that Hellen's voice was strong enough to support his magic. She was no Christine, he though sadly, even if she looked right now just like her. It was shocking, and a little disturbing. He though that it was not fair.

He wondered why the music had transformed her into his former love. Maybe it was because Christine had always been his only muse. His angel. His music.

Hellen, in fact, was very lacking as a muse. He didn't think she had ever been beautiful, not even when she was young. She looked like the kind of boring women that finished at every dance being the wallflower. Not like the singer with her curly dark hair, and her brown eyes, and...

Why she was staring at him?

He looked at her, puzzled, and even more so when she turned to watch her own feet, blushing. What was that nonsense?

He had to concentrate in the river, in keeping it steady. It wouldn't do to end up dying while trying to save the lad. He knew that only his will, through Hellen's voice, was forcing the Queen's hand right now. He felt unsteady: the sooner they left the stream, the better. Water was a treaty element, even in the real world. Here, almost at the gates of the Queen's realm, the river had this dreamlike quality that talked about fae's magic. He tensed his hands over the row. He liked the familiarity of his old boat, even if it felt the same kind of disturbing as his old self did. It was better to not think of it, because every thought, every doubt could break his concentration. He had to impose his own illusions over the Queen's ones. He needed every bit of his mind, of his strength and will, of his shaky sanity to do so...

_Please heavens, let Hellen be stronger than she looked like..._

"Here we are", he said, relieved. Dry land showed at last. He guided the gondola to the shore and jumped out of it, turning to offer his hand to Hellen.

_Why did you leave me, angel?_ He though suddenly. He tried to suffocate the feeling of betrayal that went with it. She was not her. No, she was the widow, not the young singer. _Stop it right now, you old fool_.

She was blushing furiously as she took his hand to help her out of the boat. That did little to ease his mind. Christine had never acted like this with him, and that was a relief since the differences were well received as an anchor to his mind; but neither Hellen had been like these before.

In front of them there was a big opening in the stonewalls, just like a fresh cut into flesh: great, scary and out of place. While the corridor and the cavern where the river was looked old, with moss and water dripping everywhere, this entry was new and seemed to have been cut through the rock, as a knife would go through butter.

It was, nonetheless, covered with stones and impossible to pass through. Someone had provoked a landslide, and there was no way to enter the cavern now.

Eric cleared his throat. He was surprised to see the usually imaginative dwarfs resort to such rough measures. "Well, here we are", he said.

"What are we going to do now?" asked uncertainly Hellen in her soft, insecure voice.

"Do not worry. I can clear a way for us, but we'll have to crawl a little. Do you think you'll be able to, Chris... Hellen?

She nodded, still not looking him in the eye. "How are you going to do it?" she said in a whisper.

"The same way I made a lot of tunnels down here". He produced a stick of dynamite from inside his cloak. Hellen stared at it, in shock. "It has no glamour, I concede." He sounded almost apologetic. "But it will do.

Hellen nodded again. Dark locks of hair concealed her eyes and shadowed her face.

Eric put the stick in a little crevice between two rocks. Then he took Hellen's hand again and guided her where the wall made a natural corner, where they would be safe from the explosion. "Stay calm. Cover your ears. It will be a blow!" he sneered.

She said nothing at all, just pressing her petite figure into his arms. Eric was appalled. Why was Hellen acting so strange?

The explosion made the whole cavern tremble and shake. Hellen did a small noise and shivered.

"Hellen? Hellen, are you hurt?" Eric was now worried. "Hellen, please, your demeanour is completely out of place. Look at me. Hellen, look at me now!" His voice grew more imperative and aggressive, trying to make her react.

Slowly, she raised her eyes to him at last. She was shivering, and blushing, lips parted. He knew that look. It was the way Christine looked at him, wasn't it?

But no, there was something different. That face, these eyes, the way she was breathing fast, as if fascinated... Oh God. Christine had looked like this, yes. When she was with Raoul. Jealousy spread through him, red and hot. He suppressed it. She was not Christine. She was not in love with Raoul.

She was not in love with him, either. He sighed, sadly. Seemed that the magic of illusions had worked one too much into his new pupil. She was unable to look away from him now, all her desires and pain too visible, too obvious in her expression.

"Hellen, listen to me" he said more softly now. "I know how you think you feel, but believe me... It's nothing but a reflection of my desires." He resisted the temptation of caressing her face. It was Christine's face, so young and beautiful. It wouldn't be right to show any affection to her, when she was like this, to lie to her and to himself like this. "I wished so much for Christine to love me..." he sighed. "I think I have imposed my will onto you through the music. That's just another illusion. Nothing else. Do you understand?

"I'm sorry" she whispered, almost too slow to hear.

He smiled, tense and apologetic, and rarely sincere. "So I am, madame. So I am. Are we going?

She nodded and lowered her eyes again. Was she crying? He preferred not to know.

"Here we go, then. To the heart of the darkness!

---

Note: Sorry about the delay. I was hoping to find a good beta reader, but it seems the two I choose have a lot to deal with in real live. So, here's the text- unbetaed again. I'm desolated about it, but since I wrote this months ago, it was more than time to post it.

So, if someone is willing to beta this story, please write me. I'm VERY slow writing since I have to deal with real live, a husband, a work, a home, studies and my personal muse who comes and goes as she pleases. English not being my first language also adds to my lack of speed. I would thank anyone who takes the time, the patience and the effort that takes to beta every previous chapter, and the new ones I would provide. I have all the intention of ending this story, but it can take months.


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